Bandolero by Day

The work day gets a whole lot longer when all your computer's input devices suddenly stop functioning. I know I'm not the only one who's been a Computer Transient, shunted from desk to desk at everyone else's convenience, dragging your files along with you and feeling oddly disenfranchised. You're not supposed to become so attached to that desk that you hate sitting down at every day, but familiarity digs its bony fingers in and you don't notice it until you get up to leave for another computer, one with a monitor so smudged that the previous user could only have been headbutting the screen in a primitive battle for dominance and enough crumbs in the keyboard to leave a trail from Phoenix to L.A.

Anyway, that's why I once again brought up the idea of driving to Mexico when I went out to lunch with my coworker. I'm sure that if I keep pressing the issue she'll just turn her van south one day, regardless of how many children she has at home.

To my great delight, said coworker showed me a shop that sells Chicago-style hot dogs (HINT: requires celery salt) (note to self: buy some celery salt) only a block away from work. The mere mention of those dogs clouded my mind and my dreams, so much so that even though the owner of the Mexican restaurant next store was INSISTING that I ACCEPT FREE TACOS FROM HIM, I said, "FREE FOOD, can't eat... not... CHICAGO DOGS, AJFLASJF" and fled next door where I paid precious coinage in exchange for not-free food.

That may not have been exactly what I said, but I assure you that my will was torn.

Then I actually returned to the Mexican restaurant and drained their beverage fountain of Horchata and Orange Bang and Piña Colada Bang and Jamaica Ole (not free). All highly recommended, though you are probably shit out of luck if you are not near California.


Bonus feature: I've been carrying a small notebook around with me and marking down any incidence of deranged thinking, to bring to my counseling session with me. I brought the wrong notebook with me this week, and pulled out my shopping list instead. "Can we discuss the deep emotional resonance that ORANGE JUICE and BAGELS are creating in my psyche?"

We did not.

It may not come as any great surprise, but I have a recurring dream about being involuntarily placed in a psych ward. I wouldn't call it a nightmare per se, but it does leave me feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

Last night, however, I had the psych ward dream again, and THIS time it was actually a very pleasant experience. I woke up feeling quite content.

I'm not sure what that means, if it means anything at all, but the sudden shift in mood amuses me.


So I worked overtime today, came home, ate food, blah blah blah oh and I drew a picture of Daichi from Sailor Moon Flash. Truly it was a full, productive day.

The weekend, you say? But what will I do without my crazy pills? Well, I like this comic because I can relate, and because I want a demon that refutes the second law of thermodynamics.

In other news, I made something that is halfway between pasta and a frittata, sort of on accident, but it is DELICIOUS. I rule. The kitchen has been subjugated, for the time being at least.

And then I got to work for the rest of the weekend, and everyone lived painfully ever after (I am telling you the future).